


Morph (run away)

by thecyanideyoudrank



Category: Bandom, Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Abusive Relationship, Drug Use, Emotional Manipulation, Faked Suicide, Highschool AU, M/M, Mental Illnesses, Murder, Tysh, i swear Nico isn’t a crusty Bishop in this, joshler - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-10-25 18:07:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17730101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecyanideyoudrank/pseuds/thecyanideyoudrank
Summary: Tyler is messed up.Josh is messed up.Nico is bad news.





	1. Can’t Stop Thinking About If And When I Die

**Author's Note:**

> Sup. This was originally from wattpad, so I’m not counting it as my first work on here. That’s in my drafts ;;))

Tyler couldn't sleep.

Again.

It was becoming a problem, really. He would be up until the wee hours of the morning, just -

Contemplating.

It's taking a violent toll on his school life, but honestly? He couldn't care less. Because there was something that Tyler just couldn't get out of his head.

Tyler didn't think he could die.

Of course, that could just be the deluded thoughts catching up with him - but he hadn't had an incident in (here he took a moment to count on his fingers) fourteen months.

Tyler's breath frosted in his cold bedroom - he really should start shutting the window - but he still couldn't sleep.

It was almost five in the morning now, so he would have to get up.

Oh well, at least school would do an adequate job of keeping him from his delusional thoughts.

 

Tyler had eight and a half cups of coffee that morning.

He's really getting numb to it, honestly, the bitter taste on his tongue the only indicator he'd had any.

The bus would be arriving in - he glanced at the clock on his wall -

Two minutes and fifteen - fourteen - thirteen - twelve - eleven - ten - nine - eight - seven - six - five - four - three - two - one - zero -

One minute and fifty-nine seconds.

He was really getting tired of this, this obsession with numbers, but.

It was also strangely comforting.

Because if Tyler was obsessed with numbers, he couldn't be obsessed with death.

Specifically, obsessed with his death.

Or, well, suspected lack of.

His ninth cup of coffee was rudely interrupted by the stuttering arrival of the urine-colored school vehicle.

Tyler hurriedly threw his mug into the sink - he didn't really care if it broke - and shrugged his backpack onto one shoulder.

It was, of course, black.

Like over twenty percent of his wardrobe.

Did Tyler mention, he's obsessed with numbers? Yes? Oh.

His stop was the first, so he brought headphones.

Obviously.

He climbed up the steep bus stairs, not touching the railing for fear of germs, and paused.

Because, if his stop was

Supposedly

The first, why was there a boy sitting on the cracked leather seats.

He had a buzz cut almost identical to Tyler's, who had impulse-shaved his head a few days before.

Except, instead of Tyler's brown,

The boy had pitch-black stubble.

Shrugging, he decided to mind his own business, and brushed last the boy without a second glance,

Sitting in the very back.

 

Tyler almost forgot that there were no homerooms in high school,

But it slapped him in the face when he was handed his schedule in the halls,

Instead of in his homeroom,

Like it had happened from sixth to eighth grade.

He didn't like change, especially unexpected changes.

He had to find his locker - one-oh-two-eight - and memorize his combination.

He timed the numbers of the combo with his steps.

Forty-seven

Step

Thirty-five

Step

Forty-five

He kept this up for exactly three hundred and sixty-four steps, until - gulp - he got to his locker.

His

Obstructed

Locker

It was the boy from the bus.

"You're -" he paused to swallow, a lump in his throat.

Tyler hated disturbances.

Hated.

"You're in front of my locker,"

He finished his sentence softly, soft enough that he didn't think the boy heard him.

Until.

Until the boy turned to Tyler, with a terrified expression on his face.

"I've never opened a combination lock before," he whispered, his hazelnut eyes darting around like he was afraid of being heard.

"I'll do it," Tyler told him.

After all, he would want someone to help him, had he been in this boy's shoes.

He held a hand out, and the boy handed him the - ugh - crumpled schedule.

Tyler ran his eyes over the page.

Joshua W. Dun.

Locker - 1029

Combination - 7-10-14

He looked at the classes.

They had an identical schedule, save for health.

(He had it the third marking period, Joshua had it the first)

Looking up, he grasped the combination lock and spun it thrice in quick succession.

Trying the handle, it slid open nicely.

Shooting Joshua a hesitant smile, he handed him back the schedule and prepared for the day.

 

A blur.

That's all Tyler could recall about the first five periods.

Of course, he blamed the sleep deprivation.

The coffees hadn't done anything but make him twitchy and restless.

His eyelid kept twitching on the way to lunch.

It was aggravating.

 

He glued his twitching eyes to the linoleum floor, counting his steps avidly.

Again, it was aggravating, but necessary, he supposed, if he didn't wish to get consumed by his thoughts.

He was idly running his hands over the gray lockers, and didn't notice until somebody pointed it out.

Rudely.

Tyler let out a huff of breath,

Too quiet for anyone but himself to hear.

The person telling him to stop touching the lockers had messed him up.

In. His. Counting.

He would have to start over.

Aggravating

One

Step

Two

Step

Three

Step

He was making his steps loud on purpose, to silence the buzzing in his head.

Of course, the loud steps didn't make it go away, they just.

Made it fade into the background.

The hallways had emptied while he got absorbed in his thoughts.

His intentionally loud steps echoed now,

The simple clack-clack quieting the buzzing even further.

He was only thirteen rooms away from the cafeteria

He had been counting

Obviously

And was starting to feel anxiety bubbling in his gut.

With the clack-clacking of his shoes to hush his thoughts,

He arrived.

 

NOISE

Tyler noticed that about the lunchroom first.

The second thing was that he couldn't seem to pick a name for it.

Lunchroom. Cafeteria. Who cares?

He did.

He let his eyes drift, supposedly lazily, over the large room.

It was, unfortunately, filled to the brim.

The only semi-empty table was in the far corner next to the - ew - garbage.

There were two people sitting there.

Joshua,

And,

Someone else

Another boy.

This one had a

Pouf

Of black hair on his head,

And, when he looked up, gray eyes

Chilling eyes

Tyler gulped

It was either that table, or the - shudder - others.

The others were filled to the brim.

Filled.

He didn't like people. The table near the - ew - garbage

Would have to suffice.

He walked over, sliding onto the plastic bench

 

Right next to Joshua.


	2. For Now I See That “If” And “When” Are Truly Different Cries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mean it’s TECHNICALLY Sunday where I’m at

Josh hasn't slept in three days, and it's catching up to him. If only his family could afford to renew his prescription, if only he didn't feel like everyone was watching him. When he was just about to drift off to sleep, somebody slid into the seat next to him. Josh looked up and, adding to their sad party, was the boy who had opened his locker for him. Oh God, he's probably going to make fun of me, what kind of idiot can't open a locker, oh no oh my God- he cut himself off. Josh's mother said that entertaining those kinds of thoughts only made it worse, and he trusted his mother. The boy who sat down didn't seem to have plans to say anything, but his mouth twitched occasionally, and Josh was adept enough at reading lips that he could make out a few numbers. He also caught the other boy’s eyes darting between him and the one who helped him at his lockers, so Josh wasn’t surprised when he opened his mouth to talk. 

‘Are any of you going to introduce yourselves?’ He asked with a small smirk. Josh didn’t usually find himself paying attention to voices, but this boy’s…. it was deep and musical at the same time, somehow, and Josh found himself hanging on to every word almost, but he was shaken out of those obsessive thoughts when the other one spoke.   
‘I’m Tyler Joseph,’ he said, still looking down, lips still twitching. And weirdly, Josh found himself paying attention to Tyler’s voice as well. It was still cracking, still going through puberty. But it still sounded nice?   
‘I’m Nicholas Bourbaki,’ the boy who asked the question said. ‘But people close to me call me Nico,’ he finished, smiling. It didn’t reach his eyes, though, and Josh found that.. creepy. He realized that both Nico and Tyler were staring at him, and he felt his face go red. What an idiot, he thought, before clearing his throat and speaking. 

‘Joshua Dun, but, er, call me Josh,’ he told them. His voice sounded croaky, because he hadn’t used it for three days. Nico nodded, looking quite satisfied with their answers. None of them were eating. Josh found that suspicious. He obviously knew why he wasn’t eating. There was too high a chance of the food getting him sick, or God forbid, being poisoned. That, and his parents hadn’t had enough spare change for him this morning. But, why weren’t Tyler and Nico eating? It rubbed him the wrong way, frankly, and his thoughts started racing again. Maybe they poisoned the food, and aren’t eating because they know what’ll happen? No, no, that’s stupid, there’s probably a tester. Maybe they- Nico snapped his fingers under Josh’s nose. 

‘Sorry,’ Josh whispered, his ears burning. 

‘It’s fine,’ Nico replied with an easy - still not at his eyes - smile. ‘I just asked if you had a phone.’ If it was possible, Josh would’ve turned redder. How could they afford a phone?

‘N-no,’ he murmured, stumbling over the simple word. Nico pouted sympathetically, and made a soft aww noise of disappointment. When Josh looked at Nico’s closed fist, he saw a piece of paper with a number on it - probably Tyler’s number - and felt even worse. Josh wasn’t going to cry, not in front of everyone. If this was anything like his last school, seeing people cry would be a recipe for disaster, and an invitation for harassment. That was part of the reason why his family had to pack up and move, and Josh felt terrible about that — his family had a finite amount of money, and they spent a lot of it moving here, away from the shitshow of Josh’s old life. Tyler must’ve noticed Josh looking uncomfortable, because he grinned shyly at him, and his chocolate eyes screamed I know what you’re going through. The calm beeping of the bell blared softly at that point, which made Josh realize just how long he had spent dissociating before Nico had said anything. He still had two periods left of school, and it was only fucking Monday. He hated school, honestly, and wished his parents would homeschool him, but they were too busy working jobs to pay for him and his siblings. As soon as Josh turned 16 he was going to have to work, and he was fine with that; hell, it might even get him out of school. He walked out of the cafeteria and trudged to seventh period slowly, his shoes making an irritating squeaking noise on the floor. Josh had a suspicious feeling that today would be a sleeping pill day. In other words, a day that went by agonizingly slowly. He had started calling it that when he was first put on tranqs, and complained to his parents that they just made everything… slower, instead of putting him to sleep. Josh was so consumed in his thoughts, memories rather, that he hadn’t noticed the classroom door right in front of him. He had left his schedule in his locker, so he had zero percent of an idea if this was even the right class, even the right period. The door taunted him, and he couldn’t for the life of him remember if the number on the wooden panel matched the ones on the slip of paper that held his (school) life in the balance. Paranoia clawed its slimy way up into his throat, and he started to really hate not being able to afford those life-saving pills.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I saw happy death day 2 before this and ngl.... her killing herself over and over with Paramore playing in the background was a Big Mood


	3. For “If” Is Purely Panic and “When” is Solemn Sorrow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooferino big warning for Violent Thoughts :)

As he watches Joshua’s and Tyler’s backs while they exit the cafeteria, he allows himself to smirk. 

Everything was going perfectly, so far, even though Joshua was annoyingly observant.

They’re both perfect, honestly, and he congratulates himself on picking them. 

They both reek of weakness, and of broken. 

Tyler is more obvious, but Joshua seems easier to.. mold. 

He doesn’t like the word manipulate; it reminds him too much of clay. 

Ironically, as he uses ‘mold’ as a replacement.

The school day goes astoundingly fast for him, and before he knows it, he’s sitting on the cracked leather seats that constitute the bus. 

Everyone surrounding him is so loud. 

He wishes he could bring a fucking gun and kill them all, but that would ruin his little bit of fun. 

If he ruined his fun, everything would snap. 

He still had to be relatively nice to his mother, to keep up the disgusting fallacy of normal. 

His stop is, unfortunately, one the first on the route, so he has to get out so fast. 

On the bright side, he’s away from all those wastes of space. 

On the flip side, he would have to be with his family.   
He gritted his teeth. 

He hated those bastards with a passion, and whenever he was forced to talk to them he wanted to grab a fucking butcher knife and just slaughter them.

His house, had he been any other, would have been a wonderful sight. 

It was an off-white color, with lovely blue trim and yellowish shutters. 

He wanted to set it on fire and watch it burn to the ground. 

He forced himself to take a deep breath before unlocking the brightly painted door, but it only calmed the rage inside him a slight bit, and he stabbed his weathered key into the gold lock with reckless abandon.   
When he opened the door, he was greeted with the scent of cooking dinner, and his aggravatingly peppy mother. 

“Nicholas, how was your first day of high school?” His mother asked, smiling sweetly. 

He ground his teeth together even more before pasting on a convincing smile. 

“It was great, Mother. I’ve already made some friends. But, please, call me Nico,” 

The please was tinged with murder. 

His mother was too overjoyed with the notion of him having ‘friends’ to even notice the undertones of anger in his reply. 

Thankfully, his mother had to return to dinner, and he ran up to his room while the chicken was taking up his mother’s time. 

His room was one of the only places that he didn’t hate, and that was mostly because of the lock on his door.   
He had installed it after a few incidents with his siblings that he’d never really want to think about again.   
He flopped onto his neatly made bed, groaning softly.   
He wished he didn’t have to go to school, but education is, unfortunately, mandatory. 

 

He must’ve fallen asleep, because before he knows it, the red lights on his clock read seven and his mother is calling for dinner. 

With a grumble, he gets out of bed and pass downstairs, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

He passes a mirror and hates to say that appears soft and cute, or, as he likes to say, weak. 

His entire family is sitting around a polished wood table, minus his father, who was never in the picture to begin with. 

His siblings and his mother glare at him for being late, before they all dig into the roast chicken, himself included. 

It’s delicious, but he can’t focus, because his older sister Kara keeps glancing at him with the sides of her eyes.   
“What?” He finally snaps, mouth clear of food. 

“Mom told me you made friends?” Kara inquires. 

Kara sounds hesitant, which is appropriate, considering he’d never had friends before.

If only they knew what he wanted to do to these.   
“Yes,” he responded shortly. 

“What are their names?” Kara asked.   
“Tyler Joseph, and Joshua Dun,” he told her tersely, hoping she’d shut up. 

“Oh, nice kids, I used to babysit the Josephs,” Kara said with finality, looking off into the distance to finish the half-eaten food that was on her plate. 

The rest of the meal passed in heavy silence, with only the occasional sound of the scrapes of silverware on dish, before he was finally allowed to go back to his room. 

 

His room was dark, and when he bonelessly flopped down onto his rumpled bed for the second time that day, he heard a soft crinkling sound in his pants pocket.   
It was Tyler’s number, written in faded blue ink on a scrap of paper; he should probably text it. 

He pulled out his phone and plugged the new number in, the sickly blue glow of his phone illuminating only his face and a foot in front of him. 

Is this Tyler? He pressed send, not caring about how cliche it was. 

Ye, is this Nico? Came the surprisingly fast reply. 

He sent a thumbs up emoji back, and that was the end of the text conversation, for now. 

It would be so much easier for Joshua to have a phone, but oh well. 

Maybe he would get Joshua a phone, when Joshua and Tyler trusted him more. 

He really should have allowed for hitches when he first came up with this idea, so it was mostly his fault. 

He let out a soft sigh, and plugged his phone into the charger, feeling the soft vrr of the vibration before pulling his hand away. 

The mattress was soft around him, and he fought sleep tiredly.   
He hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before, no sleep really, with the tossing and turning that came before the first night of school. 

With one last, drawn out yawn, he succumbed and was pulled into a quiet, dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is hella late I’m sorry sksjshaksnjs

**Author's Note:**

> See y’all next Sunday. Used to be every sat on wattpad lol.


End file.
